Month: July 2017

People always ask “where are you from?” and I think they’re asking “where’s home?” The next thing, after I respond, is “you can’t be from nowhere” or “you have to be from somewhere.” These exchanges discomfort me, in the same way I used to – prior to formulating an honest answer – feel about “do you like being a twin?” … “That’s like asking if I like my life… I don’t know anything different or have anything to compare to. Yes, I think so, but do you like not being a twin?”

My where-I’m-from answers have varied:

“I’m an Army brat”… though that doesn’t work as well outside the US“I’ve lived lots of places.”“I’m from the US”“I’ve lived in Texas for 8 years, but I wouldn’t call it home”“Germanycaliforniageorgiaohiotexastennesseenewyorkandmassachusetts”

People want me to be from Texas.“Those were your formative years.”“You grew up there.”

Yes, but I’ve got grief with the arrogant, conservative close-mindedness. I don’t connect with them culturally or socially, and I’m not going back, at least not any time soon. Most of my friends and family have also left, so I have few emotional ties – at least, not positive ones.

Home is contextual. I think it’s an emotional state of mind, a source of love and strong relationships, and not necessarily a geographical place. I have also said that home often feels like where I’m going next. I feel nomadic sometimes, but I like having a base. I like that base being Boston, but I also like that base to move, as it did periodically with family moves growing up. I enjoy comfort, but I’m certainly no homebody.

I think I’m capable of experiencing these simulataneously, because if “home” is “comfort,” I’m sometimes most at peace in a new, foreign place.

Where do I ache to be? I don’t know. I do know that Texas gives me anxiety. There’s little nostalgia, save the relationships that I’ve proudly kept. So, I’m not from Texas, and I shouldn’t feel guilty for disowning it. My parents are also from “nowhere.” My mom’s family originate in Maine. My dad’s parents: from Newburyport/Amesbury and from Long Island. So, I guess my family is from the northeast, but both my parents grew up having 11+ states as “homes”. I feel at home in Boston, and I’ve lived here for 3+ years, so for now, Boston can be home. Yes, permission granted.

But, if you ask where I’m from, you’re putting me into a box, and I simply don’t fit. I’m comforted by a book I’m reading. Home in that sense is page 95 of “Cutting for Stone”:“But isn’t that the definition of home? Not where you’re from, but where you’re wanted most.”

Where I’m wanted most…Where I ache to be…I’m “sorry,” but I’m not singular in my sense of home.I live in and love Boston.My family is in Tennessee, Minnesota, Maine, and Texas.My friends are spread around the world.I am home with a small bar of chocolate in my hand.I am home on a warm, sunny beach.I am home when my family gathers around a table.I am home when I bike to Walden Pond, waiting for the world to awaken.I am home with a calm mind on a yoga mat.I am home alone and with others, and perhaps most importantly, even if I can’t name a place, I know the feeling of home.

a quote to remember

"The most dangerous worldview is the worldview of those who have not viewed the world.” / “Die gefährlichste Weltanschauung ist die Weltanschauung derer, die die Welt nie angeschaut haben.”

— Alexander von Humboldt

"In German, homesickness and wanderlust are twinned words - heinweh, aching for home, and fernweh, aching to be away. In a sense there are two kinds of trips: leaving home and coming home." - NYTimes: The accidental circumnavigator